


the sacred simplicity (of you at my side)

by rattatatosk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aro Ace Aziraphale, Aromantic Aziraphale, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley, Asexual Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, queer platonic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23760616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk
Summary: “Crowley,” Aziraphale said sharply, knocking him out of his thoughts.  One hand trailed under his chin, tilting the demon's face up. “You think I don't love you?”“I know you don't,” Crowley said, still looking away. “I mean, I know you love me, but you're anangel. You loveeverything. It's platonic love. Affection. Friendship. You're notin lovewith me.”Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “No, not in the same way you are, I think.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 91
Kudos: 490
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	the sacred simplicity (of you at my side)

It had been a long day, but it was ending, Crowley thought, significantly better than it had started. Lunch at the Ritz had turned into dinner, and dinner had turned into drinks, and drinks had led them back here, curled up in the back room of the bookshop, just like always. Except it wasn't _just like always_ anymore, was it? No longer bound to the will of their employers, they were free now, to be something new. _Our own side_. 

Crowley was lounging loose and comfortable in his usual spot on the sofa, sipping from a glass of something dry and red, listening to Aziraphale as he explored the shop and commented on the newest additions to his collection. There had been some rather pointed comments about the wine, earlier--  _I know it's not the boy's fault, he's only a child, but Beletti Prosecco Spumante, really? That vintage is barely even fit for cooking; practically vinegar--_ and now it seemed the angel had a few things to say about one of the childrens' series Adam had seen fit to grace him with. Crowley grinned as Aziraphale started in with  _Now, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but_ \-- and leaned back to let what was sure to be a lengthy diatribe wash over him. 

It was lucky Aziraphale's focus was mostly on his books, as Crowley was sure the grin he was wearing was positively  _soppy_ , despite his best efforts to keep his expression under wraps. He couldn't help it. He felt  _light_ , practically floating on a mix of relief and astonishment that their impossible, reckless,  _ridiculous_ stunt had actually  _worked_ . They'd defied Heaven and Hell and lived to tell the tale, and now they were free to do whatever they liked-- including spending as much time in each other's company as they wanted, and Crowley  _wanted_ quite a lot. 

He was happier than he could remember being in-- ever, maybe.

Which is why, of course, he immediately managed to bollocks it all up.

Crowley couldn't remember, later, exactly what Aziraphale had said, only that it was something fussy and ridiculous and perfectly _him,_ and before he even knew what he was doing he had blurted it right out:

“G-Sa- _Somebody,_ you're ridiculous, Angel,” he snickered. “ 'S what I love about you.”

A moment later, his brain caught up to what his tongue had said, and he froze. Aziraphale was frozen too, turning to look at him with an expression Crowley couldn't read, but which his mind was all too eager to jump to conclusions about.

“W-wait,” he said, wine spilling everywhere as he scrambled upright. “Ssshit. Aziraphale. I didn't- that's not- I'm sorry,” he gasped, retreating to the edge of the sofa until his fingers met only empty air.

Aziraphale frowned. “Why would you be  _sorry?_ ”

Crowley hissed in sharply, caught. Much as he wished he could take the words back, the prospect of having to  _explain_ was even worse. W ith nowhere left to go, he curled in on himself, tucking his legs up; coiling as  small as he could manage while still in human-shape. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't ever meant to  _say_ it, and as long as he never said it, they'd never have to have this conversation. But now they were in it, and there was no escaping.

He grimaced, turning his face aside, unable to look Aziraphale in the eye for this.

“Because,” he said slowly, fighting to keep his voice even. “You-- you don't love me.” He shivered. He knew it for a truth-- had known for a long time now, but saying the words out loud hurt more than he expected. “It's okay, really,” he continued, wrapping his arms around his knees, drawing in tighter. “It's fine. It- it doesn't matter. Just forget I said anything,”

“I will not,” Aziraphale said. A moment later the sofa dipped as the angel sat down beside him, laying one hand gently on his arm. Crowley shuddered. Aziraphale was so _close_ , Crowley could feel the heat of him, that radiant celestial warmth, and all he wanted to do was curl up inside it, let it sink into the heart of him until he was full up with it-- but he can't, he _can't_. That dream was never his to hope for. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sharply, knocking him out of his thoughts. One hand trailed under his chin, tilting the demon's face up, trying to catch his eye. “You think I don't love you?”

“I know you don't,” Crowley said, still looking away. “I mean, I know you love me, you're an _angel_. You love _everything._ But it's platonic love. Affection. Friendship. You're not _in love_ with me.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “No, not in the same way you are, I think.”

And there it was, out in the open, just as he'd always feared. Nevermind how many times he'd imagined this conversation, that didn't make it hurt any less. He shuddered, trying to tug his arm out of Aziraphale's grip. “I can't, I- I should go,” he mumbled, starting to get to his feet.

Only, Aziraphale refused to let go of him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “We need to talk about this.”

“Don' _wanna,”_ he slurred, and he wasn't as drunk as all that, not yet, but he _would be_ , if only he could get safely away from here. 

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale pleaded.

“Leave me alone,” he snarled, tugging again at where Aziraphale held his wrist.

“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and there was that look in his eyes, the steely glint of the angel at his most stubborn and determined. “We need to talk about this, and I won't do it drunk. Sober up.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a long moment, mouth pressed into a thin line. He really, _really_ didn't want to do this. He wanted to slink off back to his flat and sleep for a year or ten until he could wake up and pretend he'd forgotten this night ever happened. But Aziraphale was staring right back at him, and Crowley knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to let this go. That even if he did manage to go off and sulk, Aziraphale was likely to track him down and keep after him until it all came out, probably with a great deal more shouting.

Looking at it that way, maybe it was better just to get it over and done with now.

“Ugh, _fiiiiine_ ,” he grumbled, grimacing as the alcohol left his bloodstream and the world sharpened back into uncomfortable clarity. 

Then he flopped irritably back down on the sofa, still angled away from Aziraphale, arms crossed tightly against his chest. Whatever Aziraphale thought he had to say, Crowley was sure it was going to hurt, and he wanted to be braced for it.

“You wanted to talk,” he muttered to the cushions. “So. Talk.”

There was a dip as Aziraphale sat down beside him again, not quite as close this time, and placed one hand gently on his thigh.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly. “I want you to listen very carefully, all right?”

“Ngh,” Crowley grunted.

Well used to the demon's moods, Aziraphale carried on. “You are correct that, as an angel, I feel a general sort of love for all Creation, if sometimes in... varying amounts. And it's true that I... I have never felt  _romantic_ love, at least not the way the humans describe it; that soaring, swooping sort of feeling in the chest.” 

“But,” he said, leaning in closer. “That doesn't mean that all I feel for you is _friendship.”_

Crowley risked a glance over at him. The angel was frowning down at his hands, clasped now in his lap, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You are, of course, my best and truest friend. But you must know, my dear, that  _friend_ is really not an adequate term to express the extent of my feelings for you.” He sighed. “I'm afraid that despite my best efforts, I haven't yet found a term in any of humanity's languages that fits completely, and I  _have_ looked.”

He looked over at Crowley, then, and Crowley ducked his head, still unwilling to look the angel in the eye. Aziraphale sighed, and moved closer, reaching out to pry one of Crowley's hands from its place against his chest, tangling their fingers together.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “Please look at me.”

Trembling, Crowley did.

“I need you to know,” Aziraphale said, holding his gaze, “that you are nothing less to me than the dearest thing in all Creation.” That slow, soft smile spread across his face, then, his eyes glittering with the twinkle that threatened to make Crowley's insides melt just looking at it.

“I care about you so deeply, my dear-- I want nothing more than to spend the rest of our lives together. In whatever form that takes. Whatever you want, we can work it out together.” Slowly, he raised their clasped hands, and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's. “I don't know if that's _romantic_ love, exactly,” he said softly. “But it's what I feel when I tell you I love you.”

Crowley could only stare, stunned into silence, his throat so thick with feeling that no words could get out. All he could manage was a half-strangled string of vowels that sounded more like a whine, but Aziraphale smiled anyway, like he understood. His eyes were so soft, so open and brimming with love, and Crowley was Falling again, falling into those eyes, curling in towards Aziraphale. This time he felt warm arms catch him, embracing him, and he buried himself in the safety of them. Let himself soak in the heat, the scent of his angel and the sense of _home_ that came with it.

His face was buried in Aziraphale's shirt, but he could _feel_ the angel smile above him as he murmured softly into Crowley's hair.

“Take as long as you need, darling.I'm here for you. Just tell me what you want.”

What _did_ he want?

He wasn't sure anyone had ever asked that of him before. He hadn't even asked it of himself. What would be the point? Asking for things in Hell was not only a sure way not to get them, but to have anything else you had taken away as well.

It was a terrible liability for a demon, having a heart. He'd spent millennia doing his best to bury his feelings, to avoid showing any hint of softness that Hell could use against him. He'd hardly dared to look at them himself, most of the time. Thinking about them would only lead to hope, and hope would only lead to more pain in the end, if he let himself indulge in impossible dreams.

He'd never dared to even dream that they might actually win their freedom, let alone what they'd do with it once they had it.

Now, for the first time in ages, he opened up that bottle and let himself feel, really _feel_ all those things he'd locked away. He let the emotions wash over him, and was staggered by the enormity of it; the ocean deep currents of feelings, the riptide current of _wanting_.

 _I want to hold you as I fall asleep and see you when I wake up,_ he thought, wildly. _I want to live with you in a cottage by the sea and go for long walks under the stars and make breakfast for you in the morning. I want to listen to you ramble about books and argue about music and complain about how fast I drive my car. I want to take you out to dinner and buy you too many sweets. I want to find a thousand ways, a million, to show how much I love you, and never, never run out._

He couldn't say it.

The words bubbled up inside him, but he couldn't bear to let them out. It was too much, too fast. Everything in him warned against exposing himself like this, of letting himself be truly  _seen_ , open and vulnerable. He could barely let himself believe that he had this, here, now; Aziraphale, holding him, soft and warm.

“You,” was all he managed to whisper, his voice rough and raw. “I want you. Just you.”

He rolled over, curling in towards Aziraphale, their clasped hands pressed between their bodies. “I- I want to know you're on my side. Our side. Be _mine._ ”

He looked up, then, and saw Aziraphale smiling down at him. “Oh, Crowley,” he said. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Look I'm aro/ace and I have a lot of Feelings about platonic love being considered “less” than romantic love, _and_ I needed a confession fic where they actually sit down and have a conversation like adults. 
> 
> Special thanks to Rory, Kedreeva, Maawi, Gavilan and others on the Ace Omens server for their insights on aro-ace vs romantic ace relationships. Not being romantic, I wanted to make sure I didn't misrepresent anything. Turns out, there's less differences than I thought.
> 
> (Title from "Eric's Song" by Vienna Teng.)


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